Knuckle Bones into Die
by Dixon Oriole
Summary: Suikoden IIIish. Oneshot. Certain men are given certain chances to turn everything around. More often than not, they fail miserably. Billy is as certain as they come.


_Disclaimer:_ I take no credit whatsoever for any element of this piece pertaining to Suikoden: including characters, setting, etc, etc… It belongs, and rightfully so, to Konami. Ho-hum.

Knuckle Bones into Die

By: Dixon Oriole

"I'm gonna hit big," he chuckled softly from the shadows formed by the brim of his hat. "I'm gonna hit big," the rough voice repeated between pants as its owner strained under the weight on his back. His attention was effectively caught by the blinding sunlight as it reflected off of the numerous rings adorning his fingers – most worn just for the hell of it because they were of magic amplifying intent and as such useless to him – and momentarily captivated his simple mind. Childish glee of a variety he hadn't experienced for quite some time had stained his vision rose, and did not abate even as he stumbled and collapsed heavily to his knees.

The large man winced and grinned and felt for some of the things he'd dropped, scooping them into muscular arms and holding them tightly, protectively to his chest. This was just what he'd needed. All this stuff, all of it jammed into the gigantic trunk strapped to his back or shamelessly worn or carried in his hands was just what he'd always needed to justify that senselessly positive outlook.

Let them say Treasure Hunting wasn't a legitimate profession now, hah. He was king of the world, he was – he was… The first thing he'd do would be to get Melville some decent shoes. He'd seen those ragged excuses the boy had been wearing on his feet back at the castle, and it was about time he made good on some of those birthday "I owe you"s. Yeah-ah, and shoes were only the beginning. He'd start there and then get them a house and a dog and three or four horses, one for Melville of course, and he'd be a real father.

Eventually he'd get the kid into that knight school he was always going on about with his little friends. Sometimes he'd listened. Or maybe Melville would want to be a filthy rich Treasure Hunter extraordinaire like his dad was. Like he'd show all of them he was now. Everybody that had ever shaken their heads and doubted his god-given abilities and said what a terrible parent he was… well, there was still time and it would all be different now.

He was no fool, he'd hit big. Tromping doggedly through the town, a crazed expression of total mirth on a face already bearing a week's growth of facial hair, the man was a sight. He was practically dripping gold, antiques, jewelry – the poorer individuals drooled, wide-eyed to witness such splendor as they'd never known or would know lumbering by. The new owner's head bobbed, approving all of it.

His professional eye had item identification down to an art, so there was no need to visit the appraiser (the shop's proprietor watched him pass with his mouth hanging open and utter disbelief wafting tangibly off of his prostrate form, not to mention nausea) and the next stop was that impressive item shop he'd seen on the way through there a month or so earlier. It was just ahead, welcoming with its large, enthusiastic sign and… and… hold on a sec.

It was hazardous to stop so suddenly, balance almost lost yet again and knees still throbbing from the last occurrence of a like, but something even more interesting than the glimmer of the jewelry on his large hands lay directly to the right. This was a prosperous place; they could handle the price… Done considering, the Treasure Hunter dragged himself towards the small, dark building with the awning and the crowd of seedy people out front, staring at him like suspicious, hungry wolves. He gave them a wild, scornful smile, reaching slowly up to tip his hat.

Accepting him as a fellow wolf, they parted a path and allowed the heavily breathing adventurer to jettison his wares in an untidy pile before their game master, sitting cross legged on the ground behind a mat and several closed tomes. The alpha among them gazed solemnly up at this loaded stranger, though inwardly his heart was beating rapid-fire. He stared as everybody else in town stared, some surprised, some disgusted, but all of them very, very greedily.

"What'll you have?" the resident gambler asked, licking his lips and almost managing to receive an electrical shock through the tense air. "And how much?"

"Chinchorin." He was feeling incredibly, incredibly lucky. "And all of it." The second wealthiest man present (and within several miles, for that matter) eagerly seated himself among his riches, no thought of replacing a little boy's shoes managing to cross his mind through the obsession of doubling, tripling all he'd stumbled upon.

The gambler eyed the stack a moment, considering, but finally decided he could cover it even if by some twist of fate the idiot in front of him managed a lucky roll or two. He wasn't worried. Producing a characteristic clay bowl out of nowhere and the traditional group of dice needed for the named game, he set them out and crossed his arms sagely over a narrow chest. "The first go is yours," he stated, sardonic, and couldn't resist passing this latest customer a compulsive smirk.

The Treasure Hunter extraordinaire and absentee father Billy snatched the dice and shook them in his rolled fist, loving the concept of hitting even bigger here than he already had. The white cubes flew into the bowl, bouncing across the worn wall and tumbling to the base.

The smirk on the face of the gambler twitched and grew – while Billy's all at once faded.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ This piece was very short. So too, will be these notes. 

I can't stand Billy, though he has a nice hat. I can't stand how he interacts with Melville, and I'm glad Karen has no interest in finding her biological father.

_However_, I do believe Billy has thoughts of trying to improve his self, improve his son's life… I believe he loves Melville, but is too much of a wreck to see any decent convictions through.

He having these thoughts means that somewhere, deep down, is the spark of a good person.

I like to think that.


End file.
